Predator
by SmilinForYa
Summary: A Hunter has to fight its dominating urge to rip Zoey to shreds while finding its own freedom in developing feelings for her. Hunter's point of view in "Prey"
1. Chapter 1

"We have had many cases like this," The doctor explained, at complete ease. "Don't be alarmed; it's just the flu."

"Just the flu?" Mrs. Lombardi asked. "This can't be _just_ the flu. It has to be something more. He's grown so much taller in three days, and he's spit out some kind of green ooze yesterday."

The doctor and worried mother looked at the patient, a young adult named Dakota Lombardi. He looked limp in the chair, a little detached from the conversation, his green eyes looking somewhere else beside the tiny room. His skin gleamed in a layer of sweat, and his normally bronze skin was paler, a sickly color. He looked more than sick; he looked like…

"He looks like a zombie." Mrs. Lombardi said bluntly. "Now I want you to tell me he just has the flu. Look him right in the eye and say that. I've seen the news; all these sudden cases of the flu, but I don't believe a word of it. This is _not_ the flu—it's something much bigger. I know it."

The doctor faltered from the woman's argument. "Ma'am, the symptoms your son has are similar to the symptoms of the Flu."

"Key word: Similar. How about his green tongue?" The woman looked towards her son, gaining his attention. "Show him your tongue."

He understood her words, sat up a little straighter, his school Leatherman jacket from his school scrunching up from the edges a bit. Silently, he stuck out his tongue. It was a deep, sick green.

"How do you feel?" The doctor asked, leaning against the counter. He was observing Dakota.

Mrs. Lombardi said, "We already told you."

"No, _you_ told me. I want Dakota to tell me."

Dakota started to speak, but his voice was too scratchy for anyone to understand. He cleared his throat, and spoke a little louder this time. It was still husky and low, but it was understandable. "I feel like shit."

"Dakota!" Mrs. Lombardi chastised, giving the doctor a worried look. "Please excuse his language. He hasn't…been himself lately. Along with these symptoms, he's been different." She ran a hand through her hair in distress. "He seems angry a lot, and he's gotten so angry at me over small things. Anger has a lot to do with it. I don't even know how he has the energy to be angry; he's so ill."

"I'm no psychologist," The doctor said, "but that does seem strange. I'll let you in on one thing: This may not be the flu. Don't tell anyone, please. However, we don't know what it is. We think it may have something to do with the Flu, but how it spreads is still unknown. It could be like Rabbis— "

"—Rabbis?" Mrs. Lombardi exclaimed hysterically. "My son might have _Rabbis_?"

"Please stay calm. It's not Rabbis as a fact, but we're trying to figure it out." He started writing something down on his computer. "Now I will prescribe him his medicine."

"What do I do if it doesn't work?"

The doctor shrugged. "I don't know…come back?" He handed the woman a note and walked out of the room, going to his next patient.

"Well," The woman put the note in her purse, glancing at her son. He didn't look normal. His face was clouded with something unrecognizable. "You hungry?"

He didn't seem to hear her. And then, suddenly, he said, "Hungry?"

"Yes." Mrs. Lombardi had to hide her tears. She hoped he would be okay. She really did.

"Yeah." He said thoughtfully, as if he was thinking deeply. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I…zone out a lot." He admitted. "My mind goes completely blank randomly. Like when you were talking to the doctor. It completely blacked out." He saw a tear escape his mother's eye and he immediately rushed to hug her, but remembered he was sick and didn't want to give it to her. He restrained himself, and wobbled a bit on his feet, his knees feeling…less stable. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Mrs. Lombardi said shakily, grabbing a napkin to dab at her eyes. "I just wish I knew how to help you."

Dakota stared at her miserably. He hated seeing her sad. His mother was normally a strong woman who always had an answer to problems. But this time…not even the doctor knew what to do.

"This doctor doesn't know what he's talking about." She decided, her voice stronger. "We'll just find another. That's all. Eventually we'll have to find a doctor that knows what's going on."

Dakota felt his mind going blank again. He stared at nothing. His entire mind just…shut down without him even knowing it. He was thankfully snapped out of it by his mother shaking his shoulders, her eyes wide in terror.

"You weren't kidding," She said, noticing Dakota was back, "when you say you black out."

Dakota replied emotionlessly, "Told you."

His mother cupped his cheek, starting to cry softly again. "I'm so sorry you're so sick. I hope it's just the Flu, but I have a feeling it isn't. Doesn't Darren have the same thing?"

"Yeah. But he doesn't blank out…and he doesn't get so angry." Dakota said, knowing that he had a sudden anger problem lately. He was ashamed of it, but the anger was so dominating that it stripped him of his conscious at times. "And my height." He towered over his mother now. He used to be 5'8, but now he was a tall 6'3, just in _three_ days.

"We'll get this straightened out." His mother promised, mostly to herself. "We will. We have to."

* * *

><p>Dakota swore there was something inside of him.<p>

Something raw. Something that could someday…dominate him completely. It could already "take him over" whenever he felt the anger. But the thing inside him—it felt feral; animal-like. Like a wild animal.

It scared him.

Days passed, just two, after he last went to a doctor office. He got a little taller, but not much, and his anger increased rapidly. He spit out green slime at random moments, and he was always sweating but felt cold. That was a fever. So, he wore his Leatherman jacket, which was more of a hoodie but he spent some good money on it.

He stayed in his room while he was sick, in his bed all by himself. He would've loved for his friends to visit him, but he knew they didn't want to catch his illness. Anyone who wasn't sick was lucky. His mother said that this unknown illness was all over the news. People house by house were getting it—it was an outbreak.

But nobody would tell the truth. They were probably trying to avoid creating a Panic.

But Dakota was scared to know that he had an unknown illness. He was one of the first of all his friends who got it.

But the ones who did have it weren't like him. They didn't grow in height so drastically, nor did they have sudden anger problems.

He didn't hear about it until he talked to his friend, Andrea, on the phone. She had gotten..the illness.

"I'm sick," She said, sounding terrible over the phone. She sounded like she was sad, and Dakota could hear her sniffling. "I have these terrible mood swings. I keep crying at _everything_. Literally. I don't know why. Even if someone jokes with me I just start sobbing. It's really embarrassing." Then, her tone sounded worried. "Everyone else who's sick doesn't have these symptoms. I'm getting kind of worried."

"I know," Dakota agreed. "I get pissed off all the time."

"Did you just say piss?" Andrea asked in shock. Everyone knew that Dakota never cussed unless things were dead serious. He always thought that cussing was trashy, not saying that he was preppy or whatever; his mother just hated cussing. He himself grew to hate it, too.

"See?" Dakota probed. "I've even…lost the control to keep my language in check."

"There! You said it perfectly. You lost the control." Andrew gushed. "It feels like this sadness comes, and I lose my control. And when someone bothers me while I'm in this little episode, I go crazy on them. Really. I did it to my little brother this morning, and I really think I hurt his feelings."

"I don't know what's happening," Dakota mumbled, "but I hope…"

His mind went blank.

"Dakota? You hope what?"

No answer. He dropped the phone, his neck going limp as he stared into nothing.

"…did you just go blank? I'll, uh, call you later." She hung up.

He didn't snap out of it until his mother knocked on his door. "Dakota? I made us dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Come eat. You barely eat anymore."

"So?" Dakota felt the anger rising. He clutched onto his blankets, trying to control himself, but he knew that was futile.

She opened the door with a gentle expression on her face. "How do you feel?"

"Why do you keep asking me so many questions?" Dakota snapped, his voice different. It was dark and…scary. "Why don't you just shut _up_?"

His mother's features instantly went stern and she replied, "Watch your mouth. Don't you _dare_ talk to me like that." Then she seemed to remember that he was sick, so she said softer, "Dakota. I'm worried about you. You need to eat."

The anger swept away with guilt. He sighed, throwing his blankets away. "Do you have any steaks?"

"Of course."

For the past few days Dakota only wanted to eat steak. He didn't really have the urge to eat anything else. He didn't know why; it must've been a part of the illness.

"I heard news from the CEDA, on the news," His mother said a little brighter, "they say the illness is from livestock. They're investigating whether it's true or not right as they speak."

"Why should we trust them?" Dakota mumbled, standing up on his lanky legs. He found it weird to look around his room so tall. So weird. Bizarre.

"We need to trust someone." His mother replied glumly. "I feel like we're…lost."

_We are lost_, Dakota thought to himself. _Lost…_

* * *

><p>Three days later, Dakota felt worse than ever. His bones felt fragile and his entire body was limp in exhaustion. He felt colder than ever, and the sweat made his hair sticky.<p>

His mother sat at his side, completely worried. She had a wet clothe on his forehead, and said, "The doctor's are busy. Everyone's so sick nowadays."

Dakota, shivering, seemed to not hear her. But, he said, "Mom? Thanks for sticking with me."

She was crying now. "Why wouldn't I be? I love you."

"I love you, too."

And then the anger swept in, stronger than ever. Dakota let out a strangled growl, low and feral, that seemed to echo throughout the small apartment. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling his conscious slowly slip, and when they opened, they were clouded with that something that took him over.

And Dakota Lombardi was thrown in the back, blackest part of his mind, forced to look through his own eyes and see his own actions that he could not control. He watched himself rip apart his own mother and other innocent people, as a zombie. But then he gradually transformed into a Hunter, and had special "powers".

But he stayed in the mind, feeling hopeless.

That is, until he saw _her_.

* * *

><p>AN:

This is the Hunter's POV in my story "Prey". He obviously isn't a Hunter yet, but this is just the prologue. I shall update ASAP. :) Let me know what you think! Also, I would advice you all to read Prey before you read this. It'll explain things better, unless you prefer reading in a Hunter's POV.

I also did some research on the "Green Flu" in left for dead. CEDA is the government who covers up for the illness, lying about where it generates from and tries to keep it low. The Green Flu claims to generate from things like Rabbis does, saliva and stuff, but it can also be airborne. The surviors in the game are simply immune to the illness, they still have the illness in their blood but the symptoms don't show. The way for someone to be immune is from their generic traits, they have to have the trait in their X, recessive to the illness. Boys have the higher chance to be immune, for they only need one, girls are harder to be immune; they need two.

Anyway, that's just a little info that I gathered. :D

:)SmilinForYa(:


	2. Chapter 2

The woman was terrified. His favorite. Even better, she was _alone_. To top it off, she was completely defenseless. She was wandering down a lonely alleyway, trying to stay out of harm's way. Little did she know that he was hunting her in the shadows that hid many secrets.

The hunter stalked in the shadows, letting out another growl. The woman twisted in his direction, unable to see him through the veiling shadows. Her green eyes were wide in fright, and from the distance the hunter was from, he could see her hands trembling as she held onto her purse. She heard him, but she couldn't see him. His favorite advantage. He crouched low to the ground—ready to pounce at any right moment.

The sound of a Smoker was on the roof above the woman. He knew of her presence as well, but the hunter would not let him have her. She was his.

He bounded after her, knocking her down to the ground. The woman hit the back of her head violently, her eyes widening for a moment as she was about to lose consciousness. The hunter ripped apart her chest with no effort, his legs trapping her limp body underneath him. His hunger was on a drive; his unending hunger for _flesh_ the only thing on his mind. He dug everything out of her—her intestines, skin, blood, and was finally met with bones. He examined a long, thick bone, gave it a nibble, and tossed it aside. He wasn't sated quite yet. He continued ripping the woman up to where it was impossible to recognize her—it was just a pile of flesh.

The hunter stood up, seeing the Smoker approaching him. They locked eyes for a moment, and the hunter decided that he was finished with the woman. He would let the Smoker have her if he wanted her. However, the Smoker had the same thing on his mind, and wobbled off, letting out a dry cough. The hunter listened intently, hearing a few zombies down the next alleyway. They were undisturbed so far, half asleep, the other half walking around aimlessly.

The hunter climbed up the wall of the nearest building, hoisting himself on the roof fluently. He crouched low again, jumping from roof to roof, his eyes drinking everything in, searching for anymore humans.

**You just killed her! **A voice screamed in his head. The hunter landed with less grace, his head twitching at the sudden noise. Usually his head was silent—no thoughts, no thought process. He only had one thing in his mind: hunger. But every now and then this voice would yell in his head, every single time he found a human. **That was my first grade teacher, you ass! How could you do that? **

The hunter let out a frustrated growl, standing straight as he surveyed the area. He would just have to ignore the voice; it would fade away eventually. He had no control over the voice; he didn't even have control over how he felt. He was always driving to find a human to sate this overwhelming hunger, and he has this voice in his head that always yells at him when he tries to do so.

**Can you hear me? **The voice demanded, echoing in his empty brain. The hunter paused, hearing thunder boom above him. **Can you? Can you even understand what I'm saying? Am I still here? **

The hunter shook his head, successfully "throwing" the voice out of his mind. It was silent, peaceful in his mind. Satisfied, the hunter ventured off to find anything else interesting. It began raining in a short time, but that didn't bother the hunter. He wore a hood over his head.

He was just walking on a playground when he heard a noise. A horde of zombies. Instantly on the move, the hunter tracked down the noise easily. A couple—boy and girl—were on a roof with zombies surrounding them. The hunter let out a feral growl, watching as the couple looking at him with pure terror in their eyes. They thought they were once safe, but now they weren't.

The hunter easily jumped onto the roof, and fought the boy in a short battle. He threw a punch, landing one on the hunter's mouth. He didn't bother dodging it—it didn't hurt him. He felt nothing. So he lashed out with his hand, successfully ripping the boy's stomach open. He staggered a bit, letting out a gasp of pain mixed with terror, and the girl let out a scream. The hunter descended on the boy just as a Smoker arrived on the scene. The girl was too focused about the boy to notice the Smoker's tongue wrap around her leg. He took her right as the hunter ripped apart the boy completely, breaking him in half.

The zombies were screeching, the sound vibrating in the hunter's sensitive ears. He blocked them out, completely focused on what he was doing on hand. Pretty soon, the boy was just a mess on the roof, and the hunter felt a little more satisfied, but he still needed _more_.

**You're a monster.** That voice rang in his head, full of hatred. **You enjoy doing this, don't you? I don't. I have to sit through it. I have to watch it, I hope you know that. **

The hunter chose to ignore him. His questions were meaningless. He straightened himself out, sniffing the air. He smelled something odd about a mile away. Human food? Wherever there was human food, there had to be humans.

He began making his way towards the strange smell, which oddly seemed familiar. It _shouldn't_ seem familiar. That voice in his head was nothing more than a noise. It held no value.

**You hear me, don't you? **The voice demanded. **But you can't respond because you're a mindless zombie? I don't think you're like the rest, though. You're one of the special infected—like that fat zombie that throws up on people. That's what other people call you. I've heard them, you know, before you've killed them. Yeah. I've seen him through my eyes. They aren't your eyes. They're mine. **The voice was yelling now. **This body is mine! What makes you think that you can control it? And why am I sitting here, being forced to watch everything? **

The hunter remained unyielding to the voice. He was making his way towards the smell. It smelled so familiar…

**It's spaghetti. **The voice in his head spoke up again, harshly. **Spaghetti's my favorite food. **

The hunter paused. Food. Humans eat food.

He instantly picked up pace, his drive coursing through his legs. The voice in his head panicked. **Shit! I shouldn't have said that. Great. Now people are going to die because of me. **

Sure enough, there was a group of people inside a building. The voice in the hunter's head concluded what it was. **Olive Garden. I loved this place. Wait. Are you going to—**

The voice couldn't finish. The hunter smashed through the window glass, shattering it into tons of tiny little pieces. He lunged for the person closest—a little girl. She didn't even have time to scream before the hunter had her pinned to the ground, digging out her insides.

Screaming exploded around him. **Stop that! Can't you see how much the girl's mother is freaking out? **The voice was in hysterics by now. The hunter supposed it was crying. **Stop doing that! Stop! She's just a little girl! **

The hunter flinched, but the hunger was too strong to oblige to the voice's commands. He continued ripping the girl open—even when the girl's mother was on his back, trying to stop him. He paused to fling her off, and she went flying into another window. An alarm went off. That would attract a horde.

**Shit**, the voice said. **They're dead for sure now. **

The hunter let the mother get mauled by a few zombies, and he went for a man. He was an easy prey; didn't even struggle. He was dead in mere seconds, and by this time there were zombies swarming in the room. A Boomer hobbled in the room, throwing up on the mother while she was being attacked.

The hunter loved this chaos. He dwelled on it—looked forward to it. All the intense noise, killings, _blood_, death; everything he loved.

The voice in his head, however, hated it.

**Why am I still here? **The voice said, weaker. **I don't want to see this. Why can't I just die? It's like I'm trapped here, forced to watch all the shit you do through MY own eyes. I'd rather be dead than have to sit through this. **

The hunter stood up once the man was no longer recognizable. He made his way out of the chaos, sniffing in the air for other smells. All he could smell was the strong scent of the human's food.

**I love the smell of spaghetti,** the voice whispered softly. **My mother made the best, before you killed her.** It exploded in screams. **You bastard! I can't believe you killed my mother! If I could rip your throat out right now I would—but I can't. You control my actions. I have no control. I'm useless right now. **

The hunter hated to admit it; but he wished the voice would go away. All the other hunter's didn't seem bothered by this voice in their head. So why did he hear it?

**Let's take a break from killing people. **The voice said, a little calmer. **You're ruining my jacket. That's one part of me I want to keep, capiche? **

The hunter looked down at the jacket he wore, and noticed it had smudges of dirt and blood splattered on it. At the rate he was moving, this jacket would be unrecognizable pretty soon. He didn't care. He just wanted _more_.

**Where are you going now? **The voice demanded sharply as the hunter began running on a roof. He sensed a smell. **You smell…oh no. You smell shampoo. A girl's shampoo. **

The hunter ran faster. He found himself liking the smell; it was different than food or blood. It was sweet and sugary. Though his hunger drive lowered from the smell, another side of him snapped.

The smell was strongest in a tall apartment building. The hunter climbed up the wall of the building, pausing in front of a window. The smell was from inside. His nose burned from the sweet smell, and he peered through the window.

When he saw a human girl behind shower curtains, the voice in his head was back, ten times louder than before. **She's taking a shower! Have some decency and leave, you monster! Don't watch her! **

But the hunter didn't want to leave. Instead of smashing through the window like he would have normally done, he stayed put, gazing in the direction where the smell was coming from. He could hear a soft sound coming from her.

**She's humming. **The voice said matter-of-factly. **Something you've never heard before. **

The hunter pressed closer to the window, the smell getting stronger. It was so sweet…he wanted more of it. It wasn't the same as blood—it didn't send him into a frenzy; it just made him want more of the smell.

**Don't go in there. She's taking a shower. Let's just leave and find someone else. **The voice urged, trying to coax the hunter away.

The curtains parted ways, and the voice screamed in the hunter's head **LOOK AWAY! She's naked, you asshole! **But the hunter didn't look away. He couldn't. The smell was a hundred times stronger since there was no barrier separating them. Steam rolled from the source, the smell imprinted in it. The hunter inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment to bathe himself in the smell. It was so sweet…

And when he opened his eyes, the figure stepped out of a white tube. **Oh, so now you're a peeping Tim, huh? Shocker. **The voice went deadly silent, though, when the figure's face was revealed.

It was a young human girl, but the hunter didn't care about that. He cared about her smell. The voice inside of him, however, could care less about the smell. It cared about the _girl_.

**She's…**The voice marveled, sounding shocked. The hunter sniffed again, wanting more of the smell. **Open your damned eyes—let me see her! Come on! **

For once, the hunter obeyed the voice and set his eyes on the human girl. **Wow. Who is she? She's so…pretty. **

The human girl had dark hair, and pale white skin. She was naked, the hunter could tell, but the smell was still coming from her. **Shit! I'm staring at a naked girl! Look away—now! **The hunter tore his gaze from the human girl, but was keenly aware of the smell.

**Who is she? How come other zombies haven't come yet? **

The hunter looked up again to see the human girl walking out of the room, but with clothes on. He pressed hard against the window and was satisfied that it was unlocked. He fell into the room silently, crouching low as he realized the smell was getting dimmer.

**I say we find out more about her. **The voice said. **That is, if you promise me you won't kill her. Let's make a deal; I'll yell at you less if you promise not to kill her. **

The hunter let out a growl.

**No. Just let someone live. Let's make it her. If you don't, I'll scream in your head ten times worse than before. Get it? **

The hunter figured that as long as he got to smell the sugary aroma, it was worth not killing the girl. It gave him a different drive, and made him want to listen to the voice. Plus, the screaming kind of made him angry.

**Now, let's do what we do best. Follow her. **

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Sorry it took me awhile to update. School's been a killer. Thanks for all the reviews, guys! It's great to know you all like Dakota's POV. ;D

Erin: Good luck with your tonsils! I hope it all goes good for you. Take your time on the artwork :) I'm eagerly waiting for it, though! :D I'm glad you like this story. I'll update Prey as soon as possible for you.


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